


The Old Dreamer House

by Jester_Rosa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, Fluff, Horror, I Don't Even Know, Maybe - Freeform, Why Did I Write This?, could you call this a creepypasta?, short horror story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29824413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jester_Rosa/pseuds/Jester_Rosa
Summary: Outside the small town of Auswalen, there is an abandoned house. An artist named Blaine Dreamer used to live there, but after his mysterious death, it has fallen into disrepair. Now, a young man named Derek Heartstone is drawn to the house.





	The Old Dreamer House

Outside the small town of Auswalen, there is an abandoned house. It's falling apart now, and most of the locals won't go near it. Most, with the exception of a man named Derek Heartstone.

Derek knew the original builder, a man named Blaine Dreamer. Blaine was an artist by trade, and well liked in Auswalen. Derek often spent his days up by the old house, talking with the man about his latest piece, or what his day was like. 

Towards the end of his life, Blaine began to paint with a strange kind of ink that dried very slowly. The new ink paintings were disturbing, in a way that his earlier pieces were not. The people depicted were always badly injured, or missing limbs. When he died, he requested all drawings done with this ink to be burned, and the townspeople followed through with all the ones they could find. (It was foul luck to disobey the dead, after all.) 

After Blaine's death, Derek would often find himself drawn to the old house, although he would always stop, just on the porch. Something was calling to him, and the more Derek put it off, the stronger the call became. So, five years to the day after Blaine's death, Derek set out, armed with a flashlight, a candle, a lighter, and some food, just in case. 

The door was open already when he reached the house, and Derek steeled his resolve. Blaine Dreamer wouldn't purposely leave something that might hurt someone behind, right? Stepping into the house, he was immediately greeted by the sight of a large feather in the entrance hall. It looked like once it might've been white, but now a mix of something rust colored and something black hid most of its original color. Derek carefully ignored the feather as he walked through the entrance hall, swirls of dust rising up around his boots each time he moved. Walking into the foyer, Derek marveled at how intact everything still was after five years and several storms the likes of which Auswalen hadn't really seen before. But not everything was the same, dust clung to nearly every surface, and Derek could see where leaks had sprung. A mirror that used to hang in between the stairwells that lead up to the second floor was smashed, and the same black substance was smeared on it. The house as a whole was quiet, but he got the distinct feeling that someone was watching him. 

A soft melody reached his ears, and Derek flicked on his flashlight before following the noise upstairs, to the master bedroom. A music box, one that they couldn't find when they had tried to fulfill Blaine's will, was playing. It really was a pretty box, decorated with drawings of birds in flight, and it was supposed to have gone to Derek. As the song finished, he heard something that sounded like footsteps came from the direction of the open door. Derek whirled around, his heart pounding, and noticed another feather lying on the ground in the doorway. Swiftly pocketing the music box, Derek headed back downstairs. 

It was deathly still now, and the quiet, which had been unnatural before, was now positively oppressive. He walked into the drawing room, and glanced around. Nothing was there, but as he turned to leave, something moved in the corner of his vision, out the window. When he turned to double check, however, there was nothing there. There was nothing in the next few rooms, but entering the dining room, Derek noticed three, smaller feathers, these mostly white, lying on the floor near the kitchen door. Derek walked into the kitchen warily, and saw how bare it was. He still could picture the way it had been the day they'd found Blaine's body. Dishes had been stacked up haphazardly, in a way that told Derek that Blaine was working on a new project. They'd never found the piece he'd been working on, and Derek often wondered whether it was one of the pieces done with the special ink. As he explored the kitchen, Derek could've sworn he heard rapid footsteps, and came across several feathers that were bent, and heavily stained with what appeared to be a mixture of blood and ink. 

A creak reached his ears, followed by a small noise, which caused Derek to turn around to face the basement door. Standing in the doorway was a small boy, perhaps ten years old. He lifted his head when Derek's flashlight beam landed on the floor in front of him, and the sight nearly made Derek scream. The boy's skin was pale, with a gray pallor similar to a dead man's. His long hair was dark gray, and hung in matted clumps, one of which covered the left side of his face. It didn't hide the fact that his left eye was gone, however, and black oozed slowly from the empty socket. A broken, badly mangled wing hung at his side, and his left hand was shiny like steel, with claws tipping each finger. Then the boy spoke.

“I'm called Sketch,” he said quietly. His voice sounded husky and raw, like he'd been screaming a lot recently. “What are you called?”

“D- Derek.” 

The boy smiled slightly, and extended his right hand. “Play with me?” he asked hopefully. 

“Play what?” Derek asked cautiously.

“Hmm,” the boy- Sketch- put a hand on his chin, thoughtfully, then after a while, he snapped his fingers, seemingly having made his decision. "How about Tag? We should play it outside though, there's more room there. Drawer doesn't really like it when I run inside."

"Any special rules?" Derek asked. Sketch paused, consideringly. "Nope!" he decided cheerfully. "Just Tag!"

Warily, Derek agreed. It was fairly early on in the game when he realized that this was indeed a child. One cursed with a monster's appearance, perhaps, but a child nonetheless. The game itself was rather light-hearted, and despite himself, Derek found himself promising to come back and play again when he could.

Now, each Saturday, Derek Heartstone will hike up to the old Dreamer house, knock on the door, and play a game with a small child with a single, broken wing. 

And if you ever find yourself in a small mountain town called Auswalen? I'm sure Sketch wouldn't mind a new playmate once in a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I should be working on Harbinger, not... whatever this is, but i couldn't help myself. Sketch asked me to play with him, how could I say no?  
> Real talk though, my Harry Potter muses are off somewhere else, and Sketch has been lurking in the background for quite a while, he deserves something for his patience.


End file.
